Foreclosed: A Mitzy Neuhaus Mystery (A Mitzy Neuhaus Mystery, a Cozy Christian Collection) (8 page)

“Calm down, big boy. She really gets your goat, doesn’t she? No one else has a word to say against her. I’d have thought you’d love her, after all, she’s a ‘born again’ like you.” She laughed.

“So now all Christians are supposed to love each other, huh?”

“That is kind of the point.” She laughed again and sipped her coffee.

He drove on in silence. Yes. It was true. It was kind of the point. But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

Well, it sort of did.

“Let’s get an offer on the Victorian this afternoon,” he said after some moments of silence.

“I think I’ll sleep on it. Never make a decision like this in less than twenty-four hours.”

He pulled into his sister’s driveway and let her out.

Yes, he’d have to work on being nicer to Mitzy if he wanted his family to recognize the Protestant thing he had going on. Not that he minded the Catholic Church he had grown up in, it just hadn’t clicked with him the way this one did. And it would never click with his family if they didn’t see him change.

He groaned. Why did this change have to start with that obnoxious girl?

Into every life eventually, a little laundry must fall. And that was how Mitzy was occupying herself when a most interesting fax came in. She couldn’t hear the fax coming in the office from across the thirty-five hundred square feet of her penthouse. Especially not with the television on. It was quite a bit later, the next morning in fact, when she popped into her home office with her coffee, and saw the fax.

A little less than twelve months earlier, Mitzy had had Sabrina submit an application to appear on House Hunters. It was one of the many ways she had hoped to fill the time during the economic slump. Actually, the application process itself was the way she had hoped to fill the time. She had very little hope that the show would actually come to town this year. Though if they did, she fully expected they would call on her as the local agent.  

The fax was a formal letter, but had a personal note on the bottom. The letter said, generally speaking, that House Hunters would be filming in the
Portland
metro area in one month’s time and that they were excited to be showcasing such a vibrant community. The note on the bottom was what really mattered. It was from Curt, Mitzy’s one previous boyfriend—well—her one serious relationship at any rate. After things fizzled out he had remained friendly and then he had sort of disappeared. It was a nice note:

“Mitzy! I was totally amped to see your application! I’m insisting we work with you when we get to town. I’ll be calling on Monday. Oh, by the way, I’m a producer for House Hunters now, go figure! – Curt”

She and Curt had broken up mostly over her career. Curt had been a camera man, a really good one. But
Portland
isn’t known for its vibrant film and television industry. With her business thriving and her—Curt called it ‘retentive’—sense of responsibility to her staff, things between Curt and herself just couldn’t go anywhere. Make that, Mitzy wouldn’t go anywhere, but Curt had to.

In fact, Mitzy had known that Curt worked for the show. It was her business to know HGTV as well as any other aspect of the real estate world, but she hadn’t advertised the fact on her application. It seemed pointless. Ex-boyfriends aren’t notoriously great references.

Mitzy laid the paper back on the fax tray and added House Hunters to her list of things to do. It seemed odd all of a sudden that last week was the slowest week of her business life, and this week she suddenly had too much to do. Today was Wednesday. She had less than a week to prep for the gala, get a television career, and catch a thief. If all things scheduled well, House Hunters would help with her media goals but if not…well…she wouldn’t think about that right now. She had a dress in the closet, a fabulous proposal to
First Things
and a day to spend staking out the Victorian and hunting down Laurence Mills. The missing cash buyer came to mind. Probably nothing she could do about it at this point, but the Smythes deserved some kind of compassion right now, a phone call at the very least.

At the office, Ben was put on full time gala work. He was their liaison. He welcomed the break from monotony. He particularly enjoyed running around to the printers, whether or not he really had to, and seeing his work in production. He was out of the office, meeting with the boys at the print shop this particular morning.

Sabrina and Mitzy had the still office to themselves.

“I’ve been playing detective, boss,” Sabrina said, pulling out a yellow legal pad.

“Oh?” Mitzy, reading glasses perched on her nose, was engrossed in her emails. She longed to be at the Victorian, but was a stickler about her business relationships.

Sabrina cleared her throat. “My friend at the DMV is having a hard time tracking down Laurence Mills.”

“Excuse me?” Mitzy turned and gave Sabrina her full attention.

“Remember Ryan? We dated last year? He works at DMV still. I had him look up Laurence Mills.”

“He can do that?” Mitzy asked, quite surprised.

“Sure. Apparently Hippa laws don’t restrain the motor vehicle department employees.”

“But he couldn’t find anything?”

“Yes, but what he couldn’t find was rather telling. In our state registry there are Laurie Mills, Laura Mills, Larry Mills, Lorenzo Mills, Lorent Mills and Florence Mills, but no Laurence. And Larry, Lorenzo and Lorent, the males, didn’t even live in
Portland
, much less at our poor abused Victorian.”

“So, it’s a dead end.”

“Kind of, but we now know he doesn’t have a driver’s license. Or at least a valid one. According to the tax record the
Baltimore
house was his address for most of this year and if he drives he should have a local license by now. I think it would be cool if Laurence Mills was a false identity.”

“Very mature, Sabrina.” Mitzy rolled her eyes.

“Maybe it’s immature. But it’s also more interesting.”

“How would he buy a house with a fake identity?” Mitzy asked.

“You’re the real estate expert, you tell me.” 

“He could use cash. If he didn’t have to close at a title company, it might not be that hard.” The lost cash buyer and their earlier hypothesis obviously came to mind.

“It could be possible.” Sabrina smiled, pleased with herself.

“If we happened to be dealing with a person that didn’t exist, how would we catch him?” Mitzy mused.

“We’d have to hunt him down all the same, I guess. I’d imagine if Laurence Mills wasn’t really Laurence Mills that he’d been acting like Laurence Mills all the same. So maybe we don’t change our method, we just add this tid-bit to what we know about him.”

“Not bad, Sabrina. I’ll keep this in mind. If we catch him and he isn’t really himself we have more ways to get him in trouble.” Mitzy grinned. She liked the idea of getting her kitchen thief in trouble.

“I’m going to go hang out around the house. Maybe visit Debbie at home, drink some tea and stare out her windows. I’d like to see if there are any comings or goings at the property,” Mitzy said.

“You have a very nice tenant to let you drop by like that.” 

“I’m a lucky woman.”

The gala was just two days away and Mitzy wanted to be secure on the status of the house before she found the perfect buyer—which was the whole goal of the gala after all.

It was a quiet visit. Debbie put on a pot of coffee and the two women stared out the window for hours on end, noting only one black pickup truck slow down as it passed the driveway. Was Laurence driving without a valid license and so adding to potential charges against him? Or was it just a curious person looking at the impressive old house? Mitzy noted the license plate number just the same. They could always run the numbers by the Old Boyfriend at the DMV.

The
Tiffany
Center
was an art deco building in the center of the downtown business district. It stood only five stories tall, but it was set up on the hill and made the most of what view it could manage. Through certain windows all you saw was the bustle of business in neighboring high rise buildings. The windows on the opposite side had peak-a-boo views of the river that reflected the sparkling lights of the multitude of cars commuting home across the bridges.

The interior had a deep, cozy feeling, despite the soaring ceilings and a twenty-five hundred person room capacity. The floors gleamed golden, the dais was set off by luxurious red velvet curtains.

A big band, with polished trumpets dancing and men in tail coats played on a stage set off to the side. The band leader was a dead ringer for Harry Connick Jr. and Mitzy had to look three times before she was sure it wasn’t really him.

The room was filled with round tables. Each table was hosted by a contributor who either sold their seats for donations that covered the cost or invited potential donors to sit with them. Each table represented at least five thousand dollars, but potentially quite a bit more.

The prominent Dinner with Degas sign was flanked by the red velvet curtains. Chalk ballerinas stretched out their sketched legs behind the words. Hanging beneath that sign was Mitzy’s.

The Neuhaus sign was a deep purple, almost eggplant, that complemented the red velvet curtain.

Her business name was a subtle, location inspired font—one might say Old Broadway or
New York
,
New York
writing. It said simply: Neuhaus New Homes Welcomes you to Dinner with Degas.

Each table had a similar sentiment written on coasters, cocktail napkins and a table tent. She had no idea how the printers had gotten all of that made in time, but she was very pleased with the effect it created. Her signage fit well in this posh setting.

For quite a while, she just stood back by a far table, admired the advertising and felt a bit overwhelmed by the luxury of it all. She knew it was going to be a gala affair, but she hadn’t imagined how impressed she’d be by it.

Mitzy was wearing a classic little black dress. It was the ‘When in Doubt’ option. Her personal dresser at Saks was confident it was the correct choice. It was strapless, and draped to her feet, with a bit of a Roman flair. So maybe it wasn’t the ‘little’ black dress. But despite its length there wasn’t much to it and she felt like a million dollars.

She had seen the stylist at Saks as well, just to pull her look together. They had tamed her riotous curls—a bit—and pulled them softly back at her neck. Stray curls, which she hadn’t been allowed to mousse as usual, played around her face, giving her an altogether younger look than she had had in years.

Sabrina didn’t have the same budget Mitzy had and wasn’t willing to expense her look. However she had pulled herself together well enough in a simple, dark blue tea length number with a petticoat under and cap sleeves. Standing next to the Mitzy Neuhaus she looked exactly like what she was: a personal assistant and a poor substitute for a date. The impression she gave off, however, was of youth and humor and charm. In fact, when not standing beside her boss she was probably the prettiest and most comfortable of all the women in the room.  

The low lights, candles on the tables, swinging big band music, and oversized reprints of Degas’ favorite ballerinas made the two women feel like they had entered a wonderland. But only a few more moments passed before Howard Ruche, Director of Development for The Arts Council of Portland, which managed the fundraising side of the museum, found them.

He greeted them with his natural, bluff enthusiasm. “Well done, Neuhaus. Just look around at your magnificent event.” He clapped them both on the back in a fatherly manner and began to maneuver them to the front of the ballroom.

“No, Howard, you know we didn’t do this. Your team did all of this,” Mitzy said.

“We did it, but you believed that we could do something you’d be proud enough to put your name on and we can’t thank you enough.” A waiter in tails walked past, holding his tray of champagne high. Howard slipped two off of the tray and handed them to the ladies.

“It is my pleasure and responsibility this evening to ensure that you both thoroughly enjoy yourselves. Let me begin by introducing you to my lovely wife, Adele Ruche.” A tall, thin woman, not much younger than Howard stood and allowed herself to be introduced. She handed Mitzy and Sabrina each a program.

“This looks to be a wonderful evening,” she said with warmth.

Mitzy and Sabrina found their chairs at the table. Their table was to the left of the dais, in front of a large ballroom floor. “They’ve planned a lindy hop dance demonstration, followed by a bit of ballet. The ballet is for Degas, of course, but the swing sessions will be more fun. After that the ballerinas will come back out and do living dioramas of some of Degas’ more famous pieces. Altogether it looks to be a more charming and entertaining event than last year’s Evening with Andrew Wyeth. As theme’s go, that wasn’t much to work with. Beautiful pictures of course, but terrible as a theme.”

“Why did they choose Wyeth if it was so difficult to plan the evening?” Mitzy understood how to sell a great house to a family, but convincing people to part with money for your cause was a bit bewildering.

“We try to plan our gala around the previous year’s best new acquisition. The Wyeth piece was one the museum was rightfully proud of. But nabbing a Degas this year, well, it makes for a great gala, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely.” Mitzy digested the idea of combining your year’s successes with a fundraising event. Of course your donors want to know you’ve been successful with their money. What a clever way to manage things. And really, not much different from hosting a well staged open house or home auction.

“Pardon me, ladies, there is someone here I need to greet personally. My nephew has come stag this evening. He’s seated with us, so pardon the odd number at our table.” She parted with the women and wandered off after her nephew.

Sabrina flipped through her program. “Ooh look, there’s an auction. Hey bidda, bidda, bidda,” she said.

“Hush, you’ll get us kicked out.” Mitzy hid a giggle behind her program. “Adele didn’t mention an auction. I wonder if it’s new for this evening’s event. What page?” She opened her program and scanned the contents.

“Here, page eleven.” Sabrina handed her program over.

“Jewelry? That’s different.” Mitzy sat upright in her chair. The very formal strapless gown didn’t encourage slouching. She took a deep breath to relax a little and then read the small article about the jewelry holdings that were to be auctioned off.

Across the ballroom Aerin tried to make conversation with her donors as they waited for the event to begin. She usually felt suave, sophisticated and rather young at this event. There was no getting around that those who support formal art museums like hers tended to be silver haired and hold family trusts. She was trying to keep engaged, but her eyes would keep straying to the head table where Mitzy sat as lovely as Psyche waiting for her Eros. It was unforgivable that she would be so perfectly put together tonight.

Everywhere Aerin looked she saw formal, attractive ads for what everyone knew was a plain old real estate office. And her sister-in-law who ought to hold stock in Aqua Net hair products and acrylic nails looked straight from the pages of Vogue.

Aerin herself had on last year’s dress, which still fit fine. But the dress seemed less than sufficient now that everyone was gathered together. Soon her effusive parents-in-law would arrive. At the very least, it would take the pressure of conversation off of Aerin for a few moments.

Brett was lingering at the bar with a group of men and Adele, the boss’s wife. Aerin recognized city council man Young, but not the other two men. She smiled broadly, her eyes crinkling charmingly at the elderly patron of the arts she was talking with. He was quite funny really, if she could just gather her thoughts and pay attention.

“My wife was put out altogether when she saw the auction. I’m afraid I’m going to have to buy the pendant back for her. Can you imagine what it will cost me to insure that rubbish?” he said gruffly, but with a twinkle in his black eyes.

“Pendant, I’m sorry, what do you mean buy her back the pendant?”

“Way back in
nineteen twenty-seven
, her father donated some old family relics to the museum. The museum was just getting up a jewelry collection. Prosperity, jazz music, rail roads, all that rot. Not that I remember of course, I was just a baby back then.” He tapped the floor with his wooden cane. “Everyone was rich, everything was beautiful, and everything had to be new. So her father donated some old Russian relics that had been his mothers, Romanov, I think, to the museum. The revolution was old news you know, it had been ten years or so and everyone forgot how much they used to love poor
Alexandria
and her girls. Well anyway, the bits and bobs got donated. Evy’s grandmother never did get over the loss and passed on that same bitter regret to each generation of women. Now I see it’s up for auction because jewelry has gone out again. Evy is going to be at my sleeve all night to buy it.” A waiter wandered past with more champagne. Mr. Wilber nodded goodbye to Aerin and followed, his cane tapping the floor as he went.

Aerin had always liked Mr. Wilber. And she liked him even more now that he was likely to pay any price for a piece of jewelry from the auction catalogue.

She followed Mr. Wilber as he meandered through the crowd and found herself looking through the auction catalogue. She looked over his shoulder at the pictures of the family pendant. The huge, bright ruby surrounded by emerald cut rubies and baguette emeralds, set in filigreed gold took her breath away. Perhaps it was Royal Romanov, but the name in the catalogue was Mikhaylichenko-Romanov.

Russian royal lineage had always confounded Aerin, so she turned the page to the other items for auction. One that caught her eye was a sweet little Belle Époque platinum broach, large sapphires set with small diamonds in a bow shape. It would look great on her charcoal wool winter jacket. Overall it was prettier than it was valuable. The maker was a local man from the turn of the century, talented but not genius. She would definitely have to make sure Brett saw this piece. He loved her and he didn’t mind when she bought attractive pieces of art.

She wandered off towards the band to admire the way they seemed to dance with their trumpets while they played. Big band music was an odd style to compliment a Degas theme, but it was undeniably festive. Her eyes drifted over to Mitzy again. Mitzy had lost a little of her aloof perfection in a fit of giggles with her assistant.

Mitzy took a cool drink of water to compose herself. The champagne had made her lightheaded already. Just a bit. She felt young and silly, but now was neither the time nor the place. Now was the time to make an impression.

She saw her parents enter at the side door. The arts gala was an event her mother looked forward to every year. Her father liked it because it was a swanky night on the town and put him good for the rest of the year. Her mother looked pretty and not a bit out of place. In fact, compared to the average age in the room, she was still young and vibrant. Her parents gravitated to a couple on the left of the room, obviously people they had met before.